


Three Towns and a Fed Up Angel

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Destiel/ Cockles Shorts [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anger, Angry Castiel, Angry Sam Winchester, Dean in Denial, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mark of Cain, Men of Letters Bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3688179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't know what else Dean expects him to do, he has given everything, done everything, but the man still acts as if it's not enough. Castiel is tired and at his wits end. Dean needs to hear, needs to know just how fed up he is with being used like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Towns and a Fed Up Angel

 

**Pine Bluff, Arkansas:**

              “Call Cas, he can probably figure something out” Dean says, while drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

              Sam looks at his brother, eyebrows raised into the waves of his forehead. “Why would _he_ know what to do? This is some _weird_ breed of werewolf or something. What could Cas possibly—“

              “I don’t know, man” Dean spits, cutting off his brother’s usual need to pick everything apart. “The guy always has some sort of insight on stuff. It won’t hurt to ask—just call him!”

              Sam rolls his eyes and turns back to the computer on his lap, holding it steady while he tilts to the side to fish his cell from his pocket. The Impala bounces on the old highway, making the men rock and shift in their seats. It’s been a long day and the fact that these murders span two counties connected only by the dreariest stretch of highway in America, is just making it longer. Sam sighs as the phone rings against his ear.

              “Sam?” the angel’s gruff voice tumbles over the line.

              “Hey, Cas. What do you know about unique werewolf breeds?” Sam slurs, too tired to waste any time with pleasantries.

              “Less than you do, I assure you.”

              Sam tosses his free hand into the air.  “That’s what I thought!” He glares at his older brother from the corner of his eye, waiting until he’s sure Dean notices.

              Dean curls his lip into a smirk but keeps his focus on the road, knowing the lack of acknowledgment will annoy his baby brother more than anything.

              Sam makes a face and doesn’t even care if Dean sees— _he’ll know._

              “It seems like an immense waste of time to call me to find out what I _do not_ know, Sam” Cas chimes in, drawing the younger Winchester back to the phone on his ear.

              “Oh … no, man—Dean just thought you might know something about this type of werewolf we’re hunting. It’s different than what we’re used to.”

              “Why would he assume I know of such abominations?”

              “I don’t know; I asked him the same thing.” Another round of smirks and bitch-faces are traded across the front seat.

              “Then why even bother to call me, Sam? I do actually have things I need to be tending to …” Cas’s voice slips into a steady grind “I can’t always be waiting in the wings for a call from the Winchesters. I’m an angel of the Lord! I have to see to heavenly matters! Not to mention the mark and—”

              “ _Woah_! Hey, Cas … _sorry_ , okay? Next time, I’ll make sure we don’t bother you” Sam says, taken aback by the angel’s flustered tone.

              “It’s alright, Sam. I am … I am just under a lot of stress right now. My apologies”

              “It’s fine, buddy. I’m sorry we bugged you. We’ll figure this out … and if _you_ need anything from us, don’t hesitate to call, okay?” Sam hears Castiel sigh heavily into the phone.

              “Thank you, Sam. “

              “Sure thing, Cas.”

              After another moment of silence, Sam hangs up— _Winchesters are not big on ‘goodbyes’._

              “What’d he say?” Dean asks, finally looking over as Sam pushes his phone back into his pocket.

              “Just what I thought he'd say, that he has _no idea_ what kind of werewolf this is, and frankly, he sounded pissed that we – meaning _you,_ even bothered him with it.”

              Sam turns his head to see his brother slump into a pout.

              “Well, that’s rude. He’s our angel—he’s supposed to help out when we’re stuck.”

              Sam crushes his face into a realm of ‘bitch’ that is rarely ventured. “He’s not _our_ angel, Dean, and he’s not a tool for us to just pull out whenever we want to use him. He’s our friend and he has plenty of crap on his plate too. You _really_ need to stop relying on the guy so much.”

              Dean tightens his grip on the steering wheel as he grumbles choice words, just low enough that Sam can’t hear them over the roar of the Impala’s engine.

_He still could have helped._

 

**Canon City, Colorado:**

              “Cas, don’t know if your ears still work when you’re running on borrowed mojo, but _uh_ – we need you, man. Can you swoop in?” Dean’s phone rings after a few seconds pass, making him open his eyes with a start. He’s answering before the third chime can pierce through the crisp, evening air.

              “No, Dean … I can’t just ‘swoop in’ as you say, but I can still hear you. What do you need?” Cas says, his voice—low and disheveled.

              “Well …” Dean looks around the old gas station, rubbing his neck as he waits for Sam to come back from questioning the attendant. “I don’t know how much you can really do over the phone, man. Sam and I are up in Colorado and we think there might be some demon crap going on.”

              “ _Okay_?” Cas hisses after another long moment.

              Dean stares up at the sky, wondering if the angel is _trying_ to be difficult or if he just really isn’t connecting the dots here. “Well, it’s _demons_ … so, I thought some divine assistance might be useful.”

              A rattled breath attacks his ear. “Dean, you have killed hundreds, if not _thousands_ of demons without me. Why on earth would you need _my_ help for something that you could probably do with your hands tied behind your back?”

              The exhausted Winchester looks down as he hears the gas pump click off at the back of the Impala. He scratches his boots into the dirt, trying to remember his reasoning when he explained it to Sam just a few minutes before. “Well, these demons are crafty and, _like_ —you can sense them and junk, right? Can you still do that?”

              “I might be able to, but my grace has weakened me.”

              “Oh.”

              “Yes, and I doubt I’d be able to make it to Colorado considering I have no money to put gas in my car and I can’t fly anywhere anymore.”

              “What happened to the fifty bucks we gave you the last time you were at the bunker?” Dean snaps, shivering as his father’s tone creeps into his voice.

              “That was two weeks ago, Dean and I have had things I needed to do in that time.”

              Sam walks out just as Dean huffs a laugh. “Like _what_? Gamble? Sammy told me how you’re into the tables these days.” He looks over to his tall brother with an evil grin, biting his tongue between his teeth as Sam walks around and slides back into the car—an eye roll propelling him down.

              But silence quickly tempers the older Winchester’s humor. “If that is _all_ , Dean, I really must be going.”

              “Yeah, man. That’s it. Thanks for _nothing_.” Dean hangs up the phone, wondering what has his angel’s panties all in a twist. He returns the pump to the hook and climbs back into the driver’s seat. “ _Welp_ , Cas can’t do anything.”

              “What a surprise!” Sam scoffs, looking down at his phone.

              “What do you mean by that?” Dean spits, turning completely to face his snarky, younger brother.

              Sam looks up and out the windshield, as if asking an invisible audience to grant him the strength not to reach over and slap some sense into his clueless sibling. He finally peers to his left and meets Dean’s eyes. “I mean, we’re hunting _demons_ —it’s nothing new, but as soon as the trail goes even _slightly_ cold, you’re on the phone with Cas; like he can just fly in and clean up the mess.”

              "Well, when we’re in a jam …” Dean begins but stops as soon as Sam’s glare intensifies.

              “We’re _not_ in a jam! And even if we were, Cas isn’t as strong as he used to be! You have to remember that, Dean! You need to start thinking of the guy as human, because I’m pretty sure that’s where he’s headed … that or _dead!_ ”

              Sam is a little startled by the soured expression that creeps across his brother’s face. He thought he’d get some more arguments … a few mocking glares, maybe—but Dean actually looks angry.

              “Dude, look … I’m just saying, _we_ can handle this and you should give the guy a break.”

              “Yeah, I got it, Sammy” Dean growls.

              “Okay, because I just think that—”

              “Sam! I said I got it!” Dean roars as he shoots his brother a look that Sam understands all too well.

_This is going to be a long ride home._

**Lebanon, Kansas**

               “Cas? You here?” Dean shouts as he and Sam walk into the bunker. “Your rusted pimp-mobile is outside, so I’m assuming you are!”

               “Yes … I’m here” a faded voice responds from down the hall. As the boys descend the last of the stairs, they see the angel walk into the study. “How did the case go?”

               “Fine” Sam sighs, setting down his bag on the nearest table.

               “Yeah, a demon tried to break _this_ one in two, but luckily he had _me_ around to knock its smoky ass back to hell” Dean laughs, flicking his head towards Sam.

               Sam doesn’t respond, unzipping his bag to remove the arsenal of weapons inside.

               “Are you alright, Sam?” Cas asks, concerned that the younger man could still be suffering in some way.

               “I’m fine, Cas. I just need a shower and some sleep.”

               The angel nods, backing away to give him some space—sensing that’s what he might need the most.

               “Yeah, we’re both tired.” Dean muses as his friend turns to face him once more. “Could have really used an extra set of hands on this one, man”

               Castiel narrows his eyes at the older Winchester, wondering if he is actually implying what he thinks he is.

               “I know you got your own heavenly crud to deal with, _but_ —all I’m sayin’ is it wouldn’t kill you to help us out every now and then.” Dean sets down his bag with his last few words, looking back up to see two sets of aggravated eyes on him.

               “Help you out every _now and then_?” Cas asks, incredulously.

               Sam powers forward, holding out his hand to try and stave the impending explosion as the angel’s fury begins to spark. “Cas, man—he didn’t mean …”

               “No, Sam. I know _exactly_ what he meant!” The angel shoves Sam’s hand aside and stomps towards Dean, eyeing him down in a way he hasn’t done in years. “He meant that he expects me to be ready and waiting for whatever _he_ may need. He expects me to serve _him_ , as if I am no longer a servant of heaven.”

               Dean tilts back as Cas leans into his space, making the man feel small and weak. “Cas, that’s not what I—”

               “That is not what you intended? _Oh, please,_ regale me with your reasoning for calling me each time you might have had to use even the _slightest_ bit more thought. Is it because you truly find me that much more knowledgeable, or are you just really _that_ delayed?”

               Dean opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

               “Has the mark taken away all your sense? Are you no longer one of the most revered hunters on the planet? When you became a knight of hell—were you more akin to the knights in _Monty Python_?”

               Sam barks a laugh as he straightens out and folds his arm approvingly across his chest. “How do _you_ know about—“

               “ _Metatron_ …” the angel points to his temple while slipping Sam a sidelong stare. “Everything pop-culture, remember?”

               The young man flicks his hand up and nods. “Of course. How could I forget?”

               Dean fidgets as he tries to back away but Castiel is quickly at his toes again.

               “If you haven’t noticed, Dean … I have been absent mostly to help _you_. I have traveled all over, contacted other angels, psychics, spirits and gods—just trying to find a way to rid you of this curse.” Cas reaches out and grips Dean arm, raising it to his eye level but never looking away from Dean’s stunned face. “I am helping you in every way that I can, and I realize, it still may not be enough. Yet, for you to assume I am doing _nothing_! To assume that I wouldn’t help you if you truly needed it— _like_ you truly need it with this, blasted mark …” The angel seems to vibrate around the harsher words he’s holding in; but Dean cowers, still getting the message.

               “Cas …”

               “ _No!_ I have given _everything_ for you and your brother. My own kin thinks I’m insane! Heaven doesn’t want me to return or walk its halls! I am practically _human_ and that is because of you and all that I have given! And I have never expected thanks or even acknowledgment of this …” Castiel huffs on his new understanding. “I used to think that was due to my humility, but now I see, it was because I expected you to be aware of what I have done for you. I felt that you were _compassionate_ and _appreciative_ enough to not _blind_ yourself to my actions. I see now, how wrong I was in that assumption.”

              Dean tries to lift himself against the accusatory eyes upon him, but he can’t. “Cas … I know that you’re helping me, man.”

              Castiel pulls back, finally snapping away to find solidarity in the younger Winchester. “Oh! _Really_? Well, I must still be _very_ confused by human-customs because you seemed to be saying the exact opposite!”

              Dean looks down, eyes darting side to side, filing through his imaginary index of words—now blank. “I—I …”

              Electric blue cracks back to his face. “You? You _what_? You just expect me to help _more_? You expect to me to stretch myself even thinner?” Castiel seems to unhinge, growing and jutting out from every piece of burlap that lies across his shoulders. “I realize, I am supposed to protect man—and that is what I have been doing; but I did not think I would see the day where you … _you_ would expect, _or_ want me to sacrifice myself!” His jaw locks as he grits his teeth around the hurt of his own misconceptions. “In our time together, I thought … I _truly_ believed …” The angel begins to sink down, swimming beneath his coat once more.

              Dean watches the sharp ridges smooth and the fury temper. The angel turns harmless—becoming that infantile being that stumbles across the world, unknowing and hilarious. A sneaky smile inches onto Dean’s lips with the familiar site.

              Castiel peeks up, sorrowful and ashamed that he ever felt he was important to this man, beyond just how he could serve him—but the anger writhes again as he sees Dean’s expression. “You’re—you’re _happy_?” he barks and Dean flinches hard, stepping back as Cas rushes into him. “You _break_ me and you’re happy?” The angel feels the rare burn of tears start to creep into the corners of his eyes. He turns away, just in time to see Sam move towards him.

              “Cas … calm down, okay? I’m sure Dean has a good explanation for everything—at least, I _hope_ he does. Just—you gotta chill first.”

              Castiel eyeballs the boy, biting the inside of his cheek so that he can refrain from saying something about Sam’s _own_ lack of good judgement thus far, and how he should be the last person to give advice on how to conduct one’s behavior. He stays mute, letting the young man place a giant hand on his back and lead him towards the study’s chairs.

              Sam pulls out the seat and forces the angel down. “Okay, now just—just _breathe_ , and give him a chance to think about what he’s gonna say, and _don’t_ jump in.” He turns back to Dean, watching as his brother’s mouth gapes. Sam knows that look, it’s Dean’s _I don’t know what to do_ -look and it is probably the most scared he has ever seen him. He returns to the angel sitting at his side. “He is a dumbass, and he says the wrong shit far more than he ever says something right … so, just give him a minute. And, I _promise_ , if he can’t come up with anything good after that—I’ll help you kick his ass.”

              Castiel slowly turns to glare at Sam, pulling his ears back as he sees— _he’s serious._ Something soothes inside him. The angel feels a little better knowing that he has at least one of the men on his side … even though, it isn’t the one he hoped for.

              Sam and Cas both inhale deeply before turning to look upon the frightened, meager man in the corner of the room. Dean finally straightens out, wanting desperately to run back up the stairs, hop into baby and drive off; but that won’t help. He can’t do that—not to Sam … not to Cas, _especially_ not to Cas. He stiffens his arms against his sides, wiping his sweaty palms on the seams of his jeans.  The room gets colder with the icy glares shooting across it. Dean peeks back up to Sam, who raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, saying a million silent words that he understands completely: _Say something, dude. You better make this right. I swear to God, if you don’t I won’t forgive you. Don’t say any of your usual-asshole, smart-guy comments. Just be honest. Be honest—it’s Cas. You need to be honest because it’s Cas._ Dean looks down to his feet, noticing how his knees are shaking beneath his weight. He does need to be honest—and that is fucking terrifying.

              “Sam, could you excuse us? I think … I think this would be easier if it was one-on-one.” Dean looks back to his brother, giving him his own onslaught of thoughts that he’s hoping will come across clearly. Sam nods, quickly walking over to grab his bag—turning round in a breath to head back towards the hall. He stops to give Cas a pat on the shoulder, smiling at him weakly before jetting off to his room.

              With him gone, the air seems to thicken, no longer churned by the young man’s reasonable words. Dean sighs, closing his eyes—cursing at himself but finally taking one, big chomp on the bullet. He propels towards his friend, pulling out the chair beside him and sitting down—so close, their knees brush together. He stays blinded as he begins to speak, not wanting to see how what he says plays on the angel’s face. “Cas, I’m sorry. I haven’t appreciated all that you’ve been doing—all that you’ve done. I have taken it for granted and I’ve forgotten that you got a life too. I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have … I shouldn’t have said all that crap about you not doing enough. Truth is … no one has done more for me. I know that. I really, _really_ do know that.” He reaches out a hand to pat his friend’s knee, hoping that Castiel will find some comfort in it. Dean’s eyes burst open as he feels the angel shove his hand away.

              “No, Dean. You don’t get to just apologize, call yourself an _idiot_ and have everything return to normal.” Castiel’s eyes shake with hurt, fear, _disappointment_ —everything he’s felt too strongly in the recent months and now, he knows, he will feel this way until the day he dies. “I have come to terms with the fact that my journey will most likely be ending soon. I will almost _certainly_ die on this mission; but I have been okay with that because it would mean that you were safe and you could remain on this earth, _protecting_ it, protecting Sam … doing all the good that you do. I would happily die if it meant _that_ remained the same.” Castiel sighs, lifting himself from his seat to look down on the confused Winchester, remembering how lost he seemed in hell—similar to how lost he is now. _Nothing has changed_ —not even how he feels towards the one who is saving him. _Nothing has changed at all._ “I suppose, what made the acceptance of my impending death easier was thinking that _you_ would remember me for it, and that you … _well_ , that you would _miss_ me." The angel looks away, feeling too raw to keep in the man's acid-stare. "I will still save you, Dean Winchester. Even if you won’t remember what I did or why, I will still save you … that is my mission.” Castiel nods to himself as he walks past the seated man. He reaches into his coat pocket to retrieve his keys. He needs to get away; he needs to drive until he runs out of gas completely, then he’ll walk—but he just needs to be gone. He places a firm foot on the stairs to make his way towards the front door of the bunker, only to be stopped by the fierce bellow of the man behind him ... the man who can alter the fate of the world with every move he makes.

              “No, Cas! You know what? _No!_ ” Dean jumps from his chair and rushes at the angel, angry and determined—angry at heaven for making his friend make such choices, determined to help him make the right ones. “You know why I kept pissing you off? You wanna know why I seemed so, fucking hell bent on making you hate me?” He thrusts his head forward, urging the angel to answer his question. Castiel just stares at him, unmoving against the railing at his back. Dean grows fiercer with the silence. “If you were pissed, if you were just ready to beat my ass until it was set to take a one-way trip down to Crowley, then _you_ wouldn’t have to die! I ain’t worth it, Cas! I have _never_ been worth you dying! So, _please_ , just hate me! Just see me for the fuck up I am and _leave_! Why the hell won’t you just give up on me?” His voice cracks with the final words and Dean suddenly becomes aware of the sly tears, dancing at the rims of his eyes.

              Castiel watches as the man turn away from him, wiping his face with the back of his hands before placing them firmly on his hips.

              “Cas … you don’t need to feel bad if I don’t appreciate your sacrifice, because, you don’t _have to_ sacrifice yourself. I don’t …” Dean seals his eyes tight, trying to force air past the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to live knowing that you didn’t.” He hears a rustle of fabric and then the creak of metal. Dean turns to see the angel, now sitting on the bottom of the steps, his head in his hands and fingers running through his hair. He rushes to his friend’s side. “Cas, you okay?”

              A little laugh pulses through the angel's lips and Castiel isn’t even sure where it came from, but it’s quickly followed by another. Soon, he’s a shivering mess of chuckles—only worsening when he glances up to see the damp, confused face of the man he saved.

              “ _Jesus_ , Cas … I’m a bleeding heart, here and you’re laughing at me?”

              Castiel can only double over, wondering at just how insane this whole mess has become. “What fools we are!” he bursts, wiping away the amused tears slipping from his eyes.

              Dean leans onto the banister, nodding in agreement but still confused at _why_ any of this is funny.

              Castiel finally settles a little, pulling himself upright to look his friend dead in the eye. “In essence …” he takes a deep breath to calm the fleeting tendrils of his humor. “It sounds like we are both saying, we can’t live without each other—which means, we are _both_ going to die.”

              Dean frowns, realizing, that’s _exactly_ what this all means.

              Castiel smiles, reaching out to squeeze Dean’s arm. “Dean?”

              The man looks up, relaxing as he sees something other than hurt and anger swim around the angel’s expression.

              “Say we both lived. Say we found a way to save you and restore my grace, and we _both_ lived. What would that mean then? Where would we be?”

              Dean stares at Cas, wondering where exactly he is going with this. “ _Um, well_ … _here,_ I guess. We’d get back to hunting and … like, you could stay here—if you _wanted_. I mean, if heaven didn’t need you or if you didn’t want to go back. We have plenty of room, so—you could stay and—”

              Castiel laughs, cutting the man off as he steps closer. “ _No_ , I mean, where would _we_ be? We both don’t want the other to die, but I feel that the reasoning behind that is deeper than how it appears on the surface—at least, I know it is deeper for me.”

              Dean gawks, feeling his mind blank with the angel’s implications.

              Castiel smiles, hearing the man’s trademarked words play in his head as he considers his next action. _What the hell?_

              Dean’s breath hitches as the angel pushes into his lips, kissing him hard, making their bodies shift awkwardly together, stumbling to the side, having to steady the other with fumbling hands—it’s messy and strange, and uncoordinated, and probably hilarious to see from an outside perspective. It’s everything they always have been to each other. _It’s perfect._

              Dean finally snaps back, grabbing Castiel’s arms and pulling him in closer. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the stubbled feel of his angel. They keep locked for a second longer before Cas eventually pulls away, breathing heavy around a laugh as he looks Dean up and down. Dean smiles, big and genuine—feeling his face hurt from the use of muscles that have been dormant for far too long. “Damn, Cas” he breathes, not really knowing what else to say.

              The angel blushes slightly, looking away with a grin.

              Dean yanks him close again, letting his eyes bounce over every feature of his angel’s face, wanting to commit it all to memory while trying not to dwell on the fact that his time is still running out. He smiles deeper, leaning in once more to kiss the angel quickly before resting his forehead upon Castiel’s. Dean sighs, closing his eyes as he breathes in the moment, not letting the mark or fading grace, or witches and hell, heaven or _anything_ _else_ bad in the world sully what’s happening between them now. “I should have been the first to do that” he says finally, still tasting his friend on his lips.

              Castiel laughs, shaking his head against Dean’s, wondering how he could care so deeply for such a infuriating creature. “Well … you’re a stubborn ass, so, it would make sense that I would be the one to pick up the slack.”

              The man smiles, kissing his angel again. “Well, then I’ll just have to try and make up for my laziness.”

              Silence falls over the bunker as the two lose themselves in more touches and apologies. Time freezes for them, being generous for once when it is usually, far too cruel. Sam grins, listening to the study grow quiet as he hides around the corner in the hall.

              “About _damn_ time.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is part three of my Daily Destiel Drabble that I am posting on Tumblr.
> 
> Please find me there at: castiel-left-his-mark-on-me.
> 
> Feel free to look around my Ao3 for more Destiel and Cockles feels, fluff, smut and angst.


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